


flicker

by disgruntledkittenface



Series: flicker sessions [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Break Up Talk, Canon Compliant, Closure, Flicker, M/M, No Smut, Post-Break Up, Solo Niall - Freeform, and that my friend is what they call, brief mentions of Jay's passing, too much to ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 14:24:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: Niall has waited so long to hear these words, imagined this scenario hundreds of times, and now that it’s here, he’s actually speechless. He’d hoped, but he’d never let himself believe they’d actually get here.Because at Christmas, you tell the truth: A month after the AMAs, Niall and Zayn finally talk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t planning on revisiting Niall and Zayn, I thought their story ended where This Town did, but then I heard Niall’s album and Niall was quoted saying he last spoke to Zayn at Christmas and this started to take shape in my head. Thanks to [ crinkled-eye-boo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/pseuds/crinkle-eyed-boo) for the encouragement, series name and iPhone picking, and to [ openhearts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts) for the beta read and knowing these characters as well as I do. I wouldn’t have been to able to give Niall and Zayn closure without you. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Niall looks over the shoulder of the still sleeping woman in the seat next to him as the plane begins its descent. From what he can see out of the small window, the day in Boston looks clear, bright. No doubt freezing cold as well.

He’s so tired that he aches with it but he feels a bit jittery at the moment, bouncing his leg, the good one, up and down as he waits. Niall’s never been one to feel completely at ease being cooped up for hours at a time like this. And it’s been a long while now since he’s had someone to rest a hand on his knee to soothe his nerves.

As he surreptitiously slips his phone out of his pocket and powers it on, Niall lets himself remember that feeling for just a minute. The warmth on his skin from a usually cold hand. The sense of being reassured. Safe. Home.

_Fuck_ , he thinks, rubbing his eyes. _Fuck._

There’s loads of notifications coming through on his phone now, messages from Bobby, Bressie, the entire LIC actually, Julian, Jamie, Ben, the boys, even Steve. Niall sighs when he’s done scanning through, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. It’s not like he was expecting one from Zayn but it still smarts, even now, to see there’s nothing from him.

Niall thinks back to Louis’ face the previous night; how young, how small he’d looked on stage trying to do right by his mum. It hadn’t been easy to watch, and Niall knew it was a damn sight harder for Louis to do. He’d always been the strongest of the lot of them. And it’s one thing for Niall not to have heard from Zayn, but thinking about that pathetic tweet to Louis brings Niall to the end of his very fucking long fuse.

Before he’s even realized he’s made up his mind, Niall’s pulling up the number he still has stored in his phone even though he’s never gotten a reply from it (for all he knows it’s not even Zayn’s anymore or never was) and tapping a message.

**_You should have been there_ **

Niall sits back, somewhat satisfied with at least having gotten it off his chest even though he’ll never get a–

His phone lights up and he looks down incredulously at the preview of a text.

**_i know._ **

As the last small spark of something he’s spent a lot of time trying to smother starts to flicker inside of him, the unfasten seat belt sound chimes and Niall becomes vaguely aware of everyone around him rushing to stand and move to the overhead compartments. He can’t move quite yet, feeling glued to his seat, staring down at his phone even as the screen dims black again, like it has some kind of answer for him.

“Mr. Horan?”

Niall looks up dazedly to see the kindly middle-aged flight attendant who’d found him an extra blanket when he boarded and brought ’round endless water refills during the long flight trying to get his attention. He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

“Mr. Horan, right this way when you’re ready,” she continues, as though he’s not being rude by barely acknowledging her. “Security is waiting to escort you to the private exit.”

Her words spur Niall into action, pocketing his phone and taking his coat and backpack from her once he realizes she’s holding them out for him. He finally manages something approaching his usual smile and a handshake. On autopilot is the only way he's going to make it out of here, so he tries to keep his mind blank as he follows the security guard through the back hallways.

They reach the final doorway after what feels like an eternity and Niall stops to shrug on his coat before exchanging another handshake. The predictable freezing cold feels sharp, the wind like a slap across his face, as he rushes toward the car door being held open for him. One more handshake and then he can be alone with his thoughts.

Not that he’s sure that’s a good thing.

The heat of the car welcomes him, cold to the bone after only about 15 seconds from door to door, and Niall sinks into his seat. He pulls out his phone and opens the Notes app, needing to type just one word before he’ll close it and watch out the window during the ride to the venue:

_flicker_

*

It takes an age for Niall to make his way back to his dressing room after soundcheck; people keep stopping him to ask how it went last night. He knows they probably mean well, tries to give them the benefit of the doubt, but their head tilts and concern ring false mostly. He feels a bit gawked at, like he’s been in a traffic collision and drivers are slowing to see what happened.

Bit ghoulish, really.

Pleading exhaustion over and over again, he manages to deflect their clichés for the most part, and finally reaches his destination. He shuts the door quickly behind him, reveling in the instant quiet, and makes his way to the couch. There’s just enough time for a kip before he needs to get dressed and made up for interviews.

So, of course, as soon as Niall sits down, he feels wide awake.

He starts to reach for his phone but changes his mind, grabbing a pen and his journal instead. He runs his hand over the journal’s worn leather cover for a moment, thinking of the night Harry had given it to him. How raw he’d felt all the time back then, trying to keep the grief that was always so close to the surface from overtaking him. Back before he was ready to try and put pen to page, just for himself.

Flipping to a new page, Niall wonders if Liam heard from Zayn today. How often Liam has heard from Zayn. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought from his brain. Nothing good can come from it and he has some quiet time to himself, might as well take advantage and try to give shape to the idea that had taken root in his head earlier. Settling into the cushions, he starts in on a list of words.

_flicker, spark, ember, burn, glimmer, light/dark, bright_

He shakes his head, something already not feeling right, and scratches out _bright_. Hesitating, he holds the pen over the page for a minute before writing, finally:

_hope_

*

The concept stays at the back of Niall’s mind over the next few days. He’s busier than usual even, with shows in different cities and fitting in a _Tonight Show_ appearance that was good fun in spite of the heaviness that’s settled on his shoulders over the last week. He keeps coming back to that list of words, adding bits and crossing out pieces ’til the page resembles the jumble in his head.

Messing about with his guitar usually helps him get somewhere, tends to help clear his mind when the words won’t come, but it doesn’t matter how many times he picks it up. The concept remains elusive, refusing to take shape, despite all the strumming he does in spare moments in his hotel or a green room.

Niall heads back to L.A. once his commitments are done, frustrated and overthinking things and frustrated at overthinking things. Once he’s home and his bags are unpacked and everything is sorted, he feels like he can think straight again for a moment. Breathe. He has a bit of a break from performing, so the plan has been to go back into the studio before he heads home for the holiday. Time to firm up those plans.

After pulling up his email and calendar on his laptop, he texts Jamie to see if he has time to meet up. Going in together seems like a good start; he wants to play the tracks that are done so far for him, get an honest opinion, but maybe Jamie can help him get past this block if they sit down together to write. After a little back and forth, they settle on a day and time.

Niall’s a bit early on the day, always is if it’s up to him, and he’s messing about a bit on his guitar, determinedly not trying to crack the tune that’s been haunting him for days.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice calls. “D’you know, is Niall Horan signing autographs here today?”

Niall cracks a grin as he looks up to see Jamie finally walk in.

“Wey-hey, Mr. Scott,” he says cheerfully. “Nice of ya to finally show up.”

As they laugh and exchange bear hugs, Niall knows he was right to try and keep working with the guys who’d helped shape the band’s maturing sound. He’d be a fool to think he could make the kind of album he wanted without the trust, and friendship, they’d built up over the years.

They head to the kitchenette to brew some tea, Niall catching Jamie up on the X-Factor performance and what he knows of how Louis is doing. None of the head tilts today; just a shared, silent understanding that Louis probably won’t let on how bad it is.  

Niall leads the way back down the hallway as they trade Christmas plans and Jamie pulls out his phone to bring up photos of his kids. They settle in with their mugs and Niall queues up what there is of the album. As the tracks play, Niall can’t help watching Jamie out of the corner of his eye, noting how Jamie stays quiet and his brow stays furrowed through several songs. He tries to listen for what Jamie must be hearing, and his shoulders slump when it hits him.

There’s a beat after the last track finishes before Niall forces himself to look up and meet Jamie’s eye.

“It’s not really–” Jamie starts hesitantly.

“It’s shite,” Niall replies bluntly, putting his face in his hands. “You can say it. Utter shite.”

“No, mate,” Jamie insists. “You got one or two tracks here that are sick, definitely worth mastering. But overall, it’s just… something’s missing, innit? I don’t feel the connection.”

Niall looks up again at his friend, swallows whatever is left of his pride, and nods.

“When I set out to make an album,” Niall starts, scrubbing his face, “the whole idea, it was built around being honest.”

Jamie nods encouragingly.

“And I didn’t dig deep enough,” Niall continues. “Listening now straight through, I can tell, it’s not enough.”

“What d’you want to do?” Jamie asks. “We can ditch the tea and go for a pint, we can stay here and try to sort out the tracks worth working on, we can try starting something new. Whatever you want, mate. You got me all day.”

Niall sits back and nods. He knows what he wants to do; he just needs a minute.

“Let’s grab our stuff,” he says after a while. “Got something to tell you I left out earlier.”

And so they get out their guitars and Niall sets his journal out. It falls open to the jumbled notes he hasn’t been able to make sense of yet, but he wants a clean page today. He tells Jamie about the text from Zayn, realizes that Jamie only has about half the context and backs up. He ends up talking for a long time, going to back to the morning he woke up alone, the texts he’d sent before that went unanswered, the limp handshake after the AMAs performance that he’d tried to make work as some kind of closure. Jamie interjects with questions every now and then, and they wind up working on a melody on their guitars while Niall jots notes and lyric snippets down.

Niall’s not sure how much time passes as they trade ideas back and forth and the melody reveals itself and the snippets take form as actual lyrics. Enough time that Jamie’s stomach growls and they break into laughter. He busies himself ordering food as Niall looks over the song they’re writing – have written, actually, he realizes – in his journal. It’s good, really good.

He reads it over again, more slowly this time, and his eye catches on

_Tell me there are things that you regret_  
_’Cause if I’m being honest,_  
I ain’t over you yet  
_That’s all I’m asking_ _Is it too much to ask?_

And he can’t believe it took him so long to get that on paper; he’s been carrying it around with him all this time, like a physical weight. If only he could’ve mustered this up a month ago.

Once the idea occurs to him, he turns it over a couple of times in his head before deciding _fuck it_ and he snaps a photo of the journal page, texting it to the number he’s now sure is in service.

“All right, mate?” Jamie calls, setting down his phone. “Food’s on its way, just need to sort out a pint. You deserve one.”

“Yeah, all right,” Niall replies, pocketing his own phone and feeling lighter than he has in ages. “All right.”

*

Niall calls out one last “g’night” before shutting the door to his childhood bedroom behind him. After a long day filled with family and friends, and the crush of people at Christmas Eve Mass, he’s exhausted. He can feel the hectic pace of work, the runup to the holiday, the bout of bronchitis all catching up to him. Been a bit of a whirlwind, really.

He looks longingly at his bed, tempted to just fall in dressed with boots on and all, but he knows he’ll regret it. Tossing his phone on the bed, Niall turns to empty the rest of his pockets on the dresser before taking the boots off and lining them up with the others. He stands straight again, starting to unbutton his shirt.

_Might do to sleep with this on,_ he thinks to himself as he looks down at his white undershirt _, it’s fecking freezing in here_.

As he glances toward the foot of the bed to see how many blankets Bobby has left stacked for him, he sees his phone light up with a text. He wonders which friend in which timezone it could be and he walks the few paces to pick it up.

He unlocks the phone and thumbs open his messages, almost dropping it when he sees the number the text is from. Niall never bothered to save a contact name for it, but he knows who it is. His hand shakes a bit as he opens the message to see Zayn’s sent him a photo, no caption.

He huffs a laugh looking at the pink gingerbread house in the photo. It’s a little artsy but kind of a mess at the same time, in a way that feels painfully familiar.

_Maybe…_

Niall hits the info icon in the corner, hands shaking a bit more, as he considers pressing the call button. He stares at the screen, wavering. What if Zayn isn’t ready to talk?

_Oh, god, what if he is?_

This is a step, though. Zayn’s taken a step and Niall can let him go at his own pace. That’s what he tells himself anyway when he goes to close out the screen. He can figure out some kind of reply to text back, can be totally casual–

Suddenly Niall sees his worried face on the phone screen and, heart pounding, realizes in horror that his thumb hit the FaceTime button.

_Shit, fuck, buggering, fuck all, god dammit_

And then he’s there.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi, babes.”

Niall sinks down to the bed, sitting as he feels his eyebrows raise and his mouth go slack, taking in his boy.

_Fuck, no, not my boy anymore, not mine_

He blinks a few times, trying to get the swirl of emotions in check.

_Hasn’t been in a long time._

Zayn gives him a soft smile and a little wave ( _fuck, that’s cute_ ) and Niall is so confused, wondering seriously what year it is because the sight in front of him is so familiar, it’s like no time has passed.

“Do I look that different?” Zayn asks, his smile turning wry.

“N-no,” Niall says in a strangled voice. He clears his throat and takes a breath. “ _No_ , you… you look like you.”

Zayn’s smile widens and he meets Niall’s eyes. It’s a heady feeling, Zayn’s full attention, and he’s not used to it anymore, even through a screen from thousands of miles away.

Because that’s not his home in Bradford behind him, Niall can tell.

“What about you, though?” Zayn says teasingly. “Y’ve only got, like, one little bit of blond there.”

Niall can feel his cheeks start to flush as he laughs automatically and looks down. He’s always been so easy for this.

_Dammit._

“Can’t believe it,” Zayn continues. “Never seen you with so much brown in your hair before. Didn’t think the day would come.”

Niall runs his hand through his hair, still distracted trying to figure out what room Zayn is in. He looks back up, cataloguing the beige textured wall behind his dark hair. Zayn’s sitting in what looks like a dainty white armchair. There’s no personality to the minimal style of the corner of the room, unless you count ‘expensive.’ Niall wrinkles his brow, confused.

“Yeah, yeah, I–” he says, before suddenly remembering something. “Was that… what was that, are you… the gingerbread house, that was yours?”

“Yeah,” Zayn confirms, nodding. “Yeah, that pink was sick, right? ’S like a tradition, G and her family always decorate them on Christmas Eve. Her mum’s big into tradition.”

Blood rushes to Niall’s ears, dulling his hearing, but he can see that Zayn trailed off when he saw Niall’s jaw drop. He shifts in that ridiculous armchair as Niall gathers himself enough to ask.

“‘G’? You’re…” He chokes out, “you’re with her? And her family? ’S a bit much for some promo, innit? Spending Christmas together?”

“No, babes,” Zayn says, shaking his head, “she and I, we’re proper together. ’S not promo, we’re… we’re together.”

It’s not like he’d had time for expectations between accidentally pressing the button on his phone and Zayn actually picking up but, even so, that’s the absolute last thing Niall was expecting to hear. All at once he can’t take this bizarre situation he’s found himself in anymore.

“You’re what?” he demands, taking some satisfaction in the uneasy expression on Zayn’s face.

“Together, babes,” he says lowly, eyes cast down.

“Stop calling me that!” Niall hisses, leaning forward. “You lost that right when you snuck out of our bed in the middle of the night.”

Zayn looks up, his eyes widening as Niall gathers steam.

“What’re you doing, Zayn?” he whisper shouts, wary of drawing attention from the various family and friends who are either asleep or in the sitting room, winding down from the holiday reveling. “Why did you even fucking answer?” Wanting to draw blood, he continues, “I didn’t even mean to call you, I hit the button by accident.”

Zayn visibly recoils, but Niall can’t stop.

“It’s been months,” Niall continues angrily, “no, longer than that, it’s been almost two fucking years, _babes_. And you’re acting like this is normal, like we’re just having some chat, instead of actually speaking for the first time since you left. And now you’re telling me that you’re actually with that girl? Gigi, is it?”

“Don’t,” Zayn replies sadly. “Don’t, it’s not her fault.” He sighs and moves to get up. “Hang on, don’t go, please, I just need to grab a smoke.”

Niall loses momentum at that and sits back. He watches as Zayn stands and moves through a glass door to a balcony. Zayn sets the phone down, face up, for a minute and Niall looks at the stars in the sky where Zayn is. Wherever Zayn is. He shuts his eyes for a second, not wanting to think about the idea of being under those same stars this far apart.

When he opens them, Zayn is righting the phone and Niall can see him again; he’s got a beanie on now and a blanket pulled up to his chest, smoking a cigarette with the hand not holding the phone.

“I know,” Zayn starts before pausing for a moment. “I know it’s not on, acting like everything’s normal, okay? I just… I knew I had to talk to you, to explain some things, but it’s fucking hard, innit? And seeing you again… yeah, you’re like brunet now, but you still look the same and it just… it kind of took me back, okay?”

Somewhat appeased, Niall nods.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, the fight going out of him. He scrubs his face with his free hand and sighs.

“We’re in Aspen,” Zayn says suddenly. Niall looks up, confused by the seeming non sequitur.

“We’re in Aspen with Gigi’s family,” he continues. “’S a rough time, her mum and stepdad splitting up and all, and it was easier to stay away from home, cause, like, the girls get death threats when they post a photo of a Christmas tree or summat, ’s always too Muslim or not Muslim enough, and me being there makes it worse–”

“You know they don’t think that,” Niall breaks in.

“I know,” Zayn sighs, “but ’s true, innit? So when Gigi asked me here, I came. ’S freezing and they’re not getting me up on skis even if they think they are, but it’s nice. They’re nice. ’S kinda like–”

“Don’t say it,” Niall says, pained. “Okay, you have a girlfriend, you’re in Aspen, her family’s nice, am I all caught up?”

“So we were decorating these gingerbread houses,” Zayn says, ignoring Niall’s bitterness. “And G’s sister put on _Love Actually_ in the background, right? ’Member how much Harry’d make us watch that? Even now, practically got it memorized–”

Niall barks an awkward laugh in spite of himself.

Visibly bolstered, Zayn continues, “and it got to that part, right, where the guy, you know the one, he says ‘’cause at Christmas, you tell the truth’ and I just… that’s when I texted you. Been thinking about you a lot since the thing last month–”

“‘The thing?’” Niall scoffs. “You mean the awards show where I poured my heart out and you barely returned my handshake?”

“Yeah,” Zayn admits. “That. I’ve been thinking about you a lot since then.”

Niall lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“And then,” Zayn says, “and then I heard about Jay, and I just couldn’t believe it. I was sat at home when Louis was on the show, and it was so surreal… like, there used to be a time I’d never believe that I wouldn’t’ve been there, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “Yeah, I know.”

“And so,” Zayn replies, “things’ve just been on my mind is all, past few weeks, and I got those song lyrics you sent me, and I just… I’ve been trying to make myself call you since then, I know I owe you that much, ’s just been hard because I let it go for so long, you know?”

Niall has waited so long to hear these words, imagined this scenario hundreds of times, and now that it’s here, he’s actually speechless. He’d hoped, but he’d never let himself really believe they’d actually get here. He gapes a little, trying to say something, anything, but then Zayn starts speaking again, “At the time, I think I convinced myself that a clean break was going to be easier for both us.”

_Well, that’s… certainly something._

“I figured, y’know, what we had, it went without saying–”

“No,” Niall interrupts. “Fuck that, fucking saying that anything goes ‘without saying,’ I don’t believe in that shite–”

“Babes, come on,” Zayn says quickly, before moving the hand holding his cigarette up defensively when he sees Niall’s face. “Sorry, sorry, old habits. I’m sorry, okay?”

Niall nods, gesturing for Zayn to continue.

“I know,” he says, “I know now it’s bullshit, but at the time… to be fair, we’d both kind of… stopped talking? To each other. It wasn’t just me, I know it wasn’t.”

Niall raises his eyebrows, scanning his memories for any truth to what Zayn is saying.

“And yeah,” Zayn says, “sure, I know it’s probably down to me with that to start, not telling you things, but you stopped talking to me, too. It got hard, and we just… let things slip, y’know?”

And that… it’s hard to admit, but Zayn is right about that.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Okay, yeah, I can see that.”

Zayn looks relieved, and sits forward a little.

“Right?” he asks earnestly. “I’ve thought about this a lot. And it was like, I kept going to you with the same old shit, and I could see it starting to wear on you, and you’d try but you couldn’t do anything, and it kept getting worse, and then I couldn’t stand the look in your eyes anymore when I went on about the songs or the contracts.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall says, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I never… I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, I didn’t realize…”

“No,” Zayn says, “no, don’t, I know you didn’t. But like, that made it harder ’cause I didn’t know who to talk to anymore, and the anxiety got worse and then I knew what I had to do but I kept putting it off.”

“You did?” Niall asks in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Zayn replies gently, “was pretty hard to face up to. As hard as it was toward the end, was easier not to face it.”

And Niall feels like he understands that now in a way he wouldn’t have then.

“But leaving,” he says, “that was really what you had to do? There was no other way?”

“The thing is,” Zayn starts before a violent shiver goes through him. They both laugh, the tension of this intense, long-overdue conversation broken a little.

“I’m gonna head back in,” Zayn says, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette. “Freezing my bollocks off out here.”

“Been telling you to quit for years,” Niall says, smiling as Zayn shuffles back in through the glass door. He keeps the blanket draped around him and he settles back into that chair.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Zayn grumbles good naturedly. “Fuck, where was I?”

“”The thing is,’” Niall prompts him. “What’s the thing?”

“Right, yeah,” Zayn nods. “Okay, ’s like… you’ve always known exactly who you are, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Niall asks, confused as to what Zayn’s getting at.

“You’ve always known exactly who you are,” Zayn says, “and I’m still figuring it out for myself.”

Niall pauses, unsure what to say. He’d always thought he knew who Zayn was too.

“And I just,” Zayn carries on, “I couldn’t do that in the band, I was losing more of myself all the time. And I couldn’t do it with you.”

_What the fuck is that supposed to mean?_

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Niall demands.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, shrugging a little. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick, but it’s, like, intimidating to be with someone like you.”

“Like me? Again, what the fuck, Zayn?”

“I’m trying to explain,” Zayn says, sounding exasperated. “You just… you have it all figured out, and you expect everyone around you to have it figured out too. And you had this, like, image of me and I could never live up to it.”

“Well, excuse me,” Niall bites back, “for seeing the best in you. What a shit boyfriend I was, then, must’ve been so hard for you.”

Zayn closes his eyes, sighing. They sit in silence for a minute.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says eventually. “I wasn’t trying… it’s not coming out right. I think I put pressure on myself, when I thought it was you putting pressure on me. But that’s why I needed to leave, don’t you see?”

Tears well up in Niall’s eyes again, and this time they spill over.

“I had to go,” Zayn chokes out, starting to cry too. “I felt so suffocated and there was no way out and I had to figure my shit out on my own. I’m sorry I put some of the blame for things on you, I know it wasn’t fair, but in the end it, like, made it easier to go? And I had to go. I had to, babes.”

And this time, Niall doesn’t flinch at the old nickname.

“I know,” he says. “I think… I think I’m starting to get it now.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says again softly, “for everything.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Niall replies. He looks into Zayn’s dark eyes and says it again, “I’m sorry. I thought… I thought I was there for you, I thought… I don’t know. I’m just… sorry, too.”

They both smile hesitantly, sniffling, their tears subsiding.

“That song, mate,” Zayn declares, “that song you sent me was killer.”

Niall laughs through the last of his tears. “Got you to talk to me and everything.”

Abashed, Zayn nods. “It’s like… you, in a song. I could practically hear you singing it when I read the lyrics. How’s, um…” he breaks off, looking unsure.

“How’s the rest of the album?” he asks, letting Zayn know it’s okay to ask.

“Yeah, how’s it going?”

“Shite.”

Zayn giggles, actually fucking giggles at that, and Niall feels warmed.

“What’s wrong?”    

“Was in the studio a couple weeks back,” Niall starts, “the day I sent you that text, actually, listening to the tracks that are laid down. I was thinking we were close, but playing ’em straight though… ’s not good enough, ’s not what I wanted to do, really.”

“So scrap it,” Zayn says simply. “Start over. Do what you wanted to do. ’S not like in the band where we’d have six weeks to do a full album anymore, is it?”

And that… that makes a lot of sense.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replies, thinking it over. “No, ’s not like that anymore.”

And some of the heaviness falls back over them as they both fall silent, thinking.

“Y’know,” Zayn says, fiddling with the blanket. “I’m glad it was you, I’m glad you were my first.”

And Niall rolls his eyes at that.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Zayn insists, his voice softening as he continues. “First love. I meant first love.”

And that’s… well, that’s something, innit?

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah me, too. I never… I never thought about it then, but maybe that’s what we were always meant to be? First loves?”

Zayn smiles sadly at that, a couple of tears falling. “Yeah, babes.”

“And we did,” Niall says fiercely. “We did love each other.”

“We did,” Zayn assures him. “We did. I never knew what it would be like until you.”

“Me too,” Niall says, smiling. “You were a surprise.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says, smiling slyly. “Surprised me, too. Movies, telly, they always made love look so serious, but you… you made it fun.”

“It was fun,” Niall grins. “For awhile there, was like I cannot believe my luck, y’know? Was walking around seeing blind.”

They fall into silence again, this time comfortable, until something occurs to Niall and he breaks into a laugh.

“What?” Zayn asks, already starting to laugh with him. “What’s funny?”

“I can’t believe,” Niall wheezes, still laughing, “I can’t believe we finally had this conversation because of _Love Actually_.”

Zayn laughs harder, eyes crinkling, as he says, “Somewhere out there, Harry just got his wings.”

They laugh again before trailing off, just looking at each other.

“I’m glad,” Zayn says, “I’m glad we talked. I’m sorry, Niall.”

“Me, too,” Niall replies, noting the absence of the nickname.

_Probably heard it for the last time then._

“I should probably…” Zayn starts, looking somewhere behind the phone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says hurriedly. “Go, I won’t keep ya. Was… was good to ‘see’ you.”

“Happy Christmas, Niall.”

“Happy Christmas, Zayn.”

Niall walks in the door of his house in L.A., and he should be exhausted from his long, full day of travel, but he feels awake. Alert. Light. He’s been feeling this way since hanging up with Zayn on Christmas Eve. Like… himself.

He moves through the house, dropping his guitar in the sitting room and taking his bags to the bedroom. He sings to himself a bit as he unpacks, sorting out laundry, setting everything to rights. His next stop is the kitchen, where he finds a note with instructions on heating his dinner from his housekeeper. Grinning, he proceeds to find a stir fry, no peppers, in the fridge and pops it in the microwave. As he waits, he grabs silverware and finds the beer in the fridge has been restocked. Bless.

Moving to the sitting room, he sets his food and drink down and puts the telly on. It’s already tuned to the golf channel, which keeps him entertained as he eats. After he’s finished, he takes a long pull from his beer bottle and mutes the program. He thinks back over the last few days, last few weeks. Last few months. And he feels ready for the next few.

Suddenly sure of what he’s going to do, Niall pulls his journal out of the pocket of his guitar case and sets it on the coffee table next to his phone after opening it to the messiest page. He grabs his guitar, and leans forward to unlock his phone. He opens the Voice Note app and hits record, sitting back to strum on his guitar. Feeling confident, he starts to sing.

_I think of the start_  
_And it echoes a spark_  
_And I remember the magic electricity_  
_Then I look in my heart_  
_There's a light in the dark_  
_Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me_  
_That I wanna keep_  
_Please don't leave_  
_Please don't leave_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Please kudos and share on [ tumblr](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/168113064952/flicker-niallzayn-5k-niall-has-waited-so-long%22) if you liked it and let me know what you thought in the comments!


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